


the best part is a slow braise

by taq



Category: The Half of It (2020)
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:20:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23984443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taq/pseuds/taq
Summary: Mr. Chu is very different from most of the other adults that Paul has met. He doesn’t really get him. And it doesn’t help that Mr. Chu talks a lot less than Ellie, which makes him even more confusing. But he’s nice and he buys mince and sausage and he’s Ellie’s dad and he doesn’t seem to mind Paul being around so really, that’s all Paul needs.---Of all people, Paul would understand that food is also a language of love.
Comments: 30
Kudos: 186





	the best part is a slow braise

It takes Paul two weeks to realize that just because Mr. Chu eats everything he’s offered, it doesn’t mean that he likes it. Or at least not the same way.

Paul’s three older brothers chew with the nuance of a steamroller. They shovel potatoes and sausage into their mouths but they will grimace at unseasoned greens or burnt pudding. If they eat it, it’s because it’s not bad and that’s what Paul’s been brought up on.

If they’ll eat it, it means it’s good.

If not, it’s trash.

But Mr. Chu takes bites of everything, chews it well, swallows. His utensils don’t stop moving until the plate is clean and the food is done.

And Paul used to think that meant the food was good. Ok, maybe part of him was also thinking that Mr. Chu hasn’t really had much American food and so it all just tastes good to him even if it isn’t very good.

Because there have been times when the sausage was too salty or too spicy, or that one time he borrowed the five spice powder and had no idea how much to put and he couldn’t taste a thing.

But Mr. Chu’s fork didn’t stop and Mr. Chu’s plate was empty.

Then one evening, Paul heads over with a new batch that he’s been trying out lately at the shop, just mince though it’s a new blend and sees Mr. Chu look closely at the plastic bag, prod it open, poke at it and take a good whiff.

“Go sit,” Mr. Chu says.

The next thing he knows, Mr. Chu is ignoring him, slaps at the backs of his hands with a spatula when he tries to reach for a mixing bowl.

“Sit,” Mr. Chu says.

So Paul goes to the living room and sits. An old movie is going that he doesn’t understand because they’re halfway through and it’s in German. Or French. Paul doesn’t know.

He smells the oil in the air, sneaks glances when he can but Mr. Chu always seems to know when he’s looking and it’s a sharp look that sends him cowering back into the chair. He thinks about getting some Yakult from the fridge.

Nah. Not a good idea.

The movie plays on but Paul doesn’t care about the problems of some French dude with a top hat, especially because he’s not sure which Monsieur this one is and there’s been a Jacques and a Pierre and he doesn’t even know anymore.

“Best part,” Mr. Chu says suddenly over his shoulder and Paul almost drops his phone.

Looks up to see a forkful of spaghetti on the screen that then pans out to the main dude and some girl just looking at each other.

Paul just nods even if he doesn’t get it.

Mr. Chu looks at him and Paul thinks he might even have snorted before he goes back into the kitchen, just very quietly. Mr. Chu is very different from most of the other adults that Paul has met. He doesn’t really get him. And it doesn’t help that Mr. Chu talks a lot less than Ellie, which makes him even more confusing, but he’s nice and he buys mince and he’s Ellie’s dad and he doesn’t seem to mind Paul being around so really, that’s all Paul needs.

The movie ends.

* * *

“Come eat,” Mr. Chu says, puts two plates on the table, “food ready.”

Paul thinks ‘this’ must be braised pork over rice. Ellie’s mentioned it once and well, braised stuff can be almost anything so he’s never figured out what she meant.

The pork belly jiggles back at him when he pokes at it with a fork.

Then Paul feels eyes on him and he looks up to see Mr. Chu practically laughing at him, just silently and with the quirk of his lips.

He clears his throat nervously. This feels like some sort of test. But he isn’t sure what kind of test it is, just that it gives him a little bit of the shivers.

Mr. Chu digs his own spoon in and Paul watches him, watches as a cut of the meat and a small spoonful of rice pass Mr. Chu’s lips and he sees the look of satisfaction, a subtle relaxation of something, he doens’t know what.

And then it thuds in his chest when he realizes that Mr. Chu probably hasn’t really liked anything that Paul’s made.

He freezes, almost drops his fork.

Mr. Chu’s eyes flick to his hands, up to his eyes, then back to his own plate. He eats in silence, waits, watches.

Paul’s heart is still beating rapidly but he cuts into the pork and it parts around the prongs of his fork. He can smell the spices in the air, the underlying scent of soy sauce, something that might be the five-spice.

He makes his own bite with the fork, balances a small pile of rice browned by sauce, the wobbly fat and the lean of the meat. The fragrance grows stronger and then he closes his lips around the bite.

Oh, he thinks, as the mild, rich salty sweetness of the sauce rushes into his cheeks and the oil drips around his tongue, as he chews the rice grains and the depth of the flavor shifts and changes in his mouth.

So this is Ellie’s favorite dish.

* * *

Paul pays closer attention to the way Mr. Chu eats.

He watches the way the fork goes up and down, measures the pursing of lips and the tightening of jaw, learns to figure out when Mr. Chu is actually pleasantly surprised by a new flavor, learns to avoid adding too much sugar to anything though it’s been a while since Mr. Chu has let him cook in the house instead of just bringing things from home.

He still doesn’t say very much at all to Paul but Paul feels like every sausage he bundles over from his house seems to be making some kind of progress because he’s starting to find them in more and more of the dinners that Mr. Chu makes whenever he drops by with a delivery.

There’s the thinly sliced sausage and green vegetable dish that’s savory and fragrant, there’s the rice dish with mushrooms and soy sauce and sausage and then there was that one time with the soup.

Paul’s never had soup like that before - clear, sweet but rich, it’s like someone took chicken stock but made it sausage and he doesn’t have the words for it but he drains his bowl so quickly Mr. Chu actually quirks a smile.

* * *

Then Mr. Chu lets him have the kitchen again, just watching over him silently while Paul potters about awkwardly on a weekend, discovers where the bowls are, learns how to use the rice cooker and dices the leafy vegetables the absolute wrong way.

He reads the slow hesitation in the way the spoon lingers on the too-sweet dish, learns from the tense chewing of dumpling wrappers that are definitely too thicky and floury, eyes the way the chopsticks skate around the oil of that one disaster that was Paul’s attempt at fried rice.

Mr. Chu always takes the kitchen back after that and Paul always feels bad but it’s a day or two before he gets a nudge in the small of his back and Mr. Chu retreats to the living room to his black and white movies.

* * *

It has been three weeks since Mr. Chu last kicked him out of the kitchen - after that epic failure at beignets which Paul admits was entirely his fault - and it is two days before Ellie is back for Thanksgiving. 

Paul hovers, a little awkward, a little gangly, limbs over the large stew pot. He can smell the spices in the air and it feels right. Well, a little right, a little wrong, because here he is, in Mr. Chu’s kitchen, probably stealing his secret recipe. He would wonder if this is too forward, too early, too presumptuous, except that his heart is just leaping out of his chest right now and he’s spent the last half an hour staring at the saucepan, just willing it to turn out correctly and he doesn’t have the space in his brain to think about anything else.

He gulps as Mr. Chu scoops some of it out onto a plate, watches as he parts the pork with chopsticks, skilfully constructs the bite.

The pork belly jiggles on the spoon, glistening in the low light of the kitchen. The grains of rice are nestled beneath, long and perfect, splashed with just a touch of sauce. Paul can feel his heart beating in his ears.

Mr. Chu puts the spoon to his lips.

Paul fidgets.

Mr. Chu chews, swallows, then puts his spoon down.

“Good,” Mr. Chu smiles, “this is best part.”

**Author's Note:**

> Asian parents have this way of not actually saying things and it felt to me like Mr. Chu would grow Paul's confidence in himself with food the way Ellie would encourage him with words.
> 
> or... the one in which Mr. Chu silently adopts Paul as another child without either of them realizing.


End file.
